


Not more than an inch

by Illidria



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, LLF Comment Project, Roy Mustang in a tiny guest-role, Wish-fic, Wrath!Livier AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12448068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/pseuds/Illidria
Summary: She looked like a stranger.“That’ll make five.”“The last human sacrifice.”Wraths voice a snarl, a smile playing along its lips, hatred not changed or warped, only changed vessels.





	Not more than an inch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NorthernWall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernWall/gifts).



> Another Wish-Fic for you my dear!
> 
> I really hope you like it of course ;)  
> Wrath!Livier is a thought I’ve played with for so long and as you picked Angst and seem to want some Angst, you may get some Angst ;) Canon is off course twisted and bended and torn apart completely, though this fic still follows all general rules established by it.
> 
> It’s another foray into the territory of: What if a character is taken over by a homunculus? But this time I put my grubby and inconsistent hands on it.
> 
> The prompts were:
> 
> -“I never meant to hurt you.”  
> -“I don’t deserve to be loved.”  
> -“I’m going to keep you save.”
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for these prompts, this was so much fun :D

A silent type of understanding they’d had with the other.

Relied on gestures and expressions more than mere words, dangerous as they were when heard by the wrong ears. Once she’d gripped his hand when he’d been wounded, not just wanting to strengthen his will to survive, but to tell him the truth silently. And he very well remembered the time a Drachman soldier had sliced up her back, reminder big and long and deep, sitting with her after she’d been stitched together again. Hand around her wrist when the Doc looked the other way, telling her with his eyes the things his mouth couldn’t say.

The exchanged words had always played along one simple promise: When all of this is over, our fight and our war, we will be one.

Seeing her step down from the platform, felt himself applaud with hundreds of other officers, he wondered if this promise even had a basis now. If she was still in there.

Because this person, newly appointed Fuhrer General Olivier Mira Armstrong, was a husk of the woman he knew.

He’d feared when she’d been brought to Central that her life was soon to be over. That she’d meddled too much, killing and burying General Raven inside of her Fortress. But for a month at least, long enough for an attack by the Drachmans and their crushing defeat too, she stayed alive. Became part of the high command, even though mainly to keep her in check. She’d wrestled the inheritance from her father, sending him away and quite possibly saving her families live in the process. Even silently and under the nose of many people she opened up possibilities for many a Briggs man to send their children to safety. She’d been aware every second that Amestris could fall, while he’d only been thinking about the fact that she could.

And after a month and a half in open captivity in Central, the forces against her made their move.

The official story was that the Fuhrer and she had been walking to another conference room through a secret walkway, because they’d gotten wind of an assassination attempt. The attackers managed to follow them into said tunnel, dispatched their guards, heavily wounded General Armstrong and mortally wounded the Fuhrer. That she’d been able to kill the assassins, but not quick enough to save the Fuhrer. With his dying breath he relayed to his own adjutant that the government was corrupt, that Armstrong had to be put to the top of the country, the only person you could trust to lead it out of this now.

The public ate it up, crying over their beloved Fuhrer and honouring his words and predecessor.

The truth though, was quite different. The assassination attempt was thought to be staged by those that knew of the homunculi, to get rid of the General. It went awry when they underestimated her strength, the sharpness of her sabre and her uncanny ability to fight in enclosed spaces effectively. It had been her that killed the “guards”. It had been her that mortally wounded the Fuhrer.

And according to Colonel Mustang, she paid the ultimate price for it.

He saluted when she passed, let himself be looked up and down, trying to act natural.

“Great work against the advancing drachman forces, Major. I expected nothing less of you!”

This thing looked like her. Sounded like her. Even smelled like her. But there was little more to it.

“Thank you, Fuhrer Armstrong, Sir!”

The posture was a bit off, a little too leisurely for her, too arrogant. While she’d always known about the power she wielded, aware of her vast capabilities, her weaknesses had humbled her. The real Armstrong was more alert, less sure of herself, expression more guarded. One eye was still hidden from view, though he knew the reason for that thanks to Mustang. Hair was curlier, more kept and styled. At Briggs it was clean and brushed, but free to fall on its own. There was more make-up too, not just a touch. Maybe to hide bruising, maybe to hide other inhumanities on her face, he didn’t know. The uniform was different of course, the cap on her head especially weird to eyes not used to it. A black sash of mourning slung over her shoulder.

Walked passed without sparing him another glance, the same Generals from before in tow, all of them undoubtedly aware that this was Wrath now.

“I guess I’m not the only one that sees this as bad news?”

Mustang whispering to him, the crowd around them moving now that the Fuhrer had left the place, talking loud.

“What plans we have already made need to be scrapped.”

Tone neutral, the fear of people listening in high. The General had known everything when taken over by the philosopher’s stone and there was no way to tell if she’d managed to close herself off. If she was still in there.

“In large parts, yes. Though I’d hold onto certain things. It seemed rather important to those in power, to impress upon me that this is Wrath and nothing else. Also, they’d probably expect us to plan everything anew.”

He’d been told the story before, that Mustang had been called into the new Fuhrers office shortly after her release from the hospital. That the second eye had been unveiled, Uroboros shown to the Colonel, a wicked smile confirming all of their fears.

Mustang had mourned that she’d simply been too close to the Fuhrer at the moment of his death, that the homunculi had apparently enough sentience left to reach out to the new host. Had tried to mask his own discomfort at the mere thought with scientific explanations, Miles knowing that they’d been friends during childhood, still were, however much trying to hide it.

“If she had the chance, she’ll have tried to close off those information’s. Though we should be on the lookout.”

He felt Mustang nod and walk away, vanishing inside of the crowd. He too wandered through it, saw her brother weave through the people, slowly, expression dark. Saw team Mustang in the distance, balling around their leader, seemingly silent.

Miles thought about how to proceed for a bit, before turning on his heel.

He’d gather his stuff from the hotel and try to catch the next train north. Had been informed that he was to lead the Fort until anything else was decided. Wanted to talk with the soldiers there, all on edge since the news reached them. Needed to plan. The promised day was coming, whether they liked it or not. Machines and weapons would be readied, alchemists were already preparing. They’d fight to win. And without a doubt, they would try to safe her.

She wouldn’t want them to, would drone on about her credo, how survival of the fittest meant leaving her behind in such a situation. Always had a hard time understanding that they were a family, their species one that survived by looking out for the other.

Hoped, because he could do little more, that he’d get her back.

That she was still in there.

* * *

 The last few months had been spent in grim resolve.

They’d prepared for this day, taken tanks apart and reassembled them in a cellar in the heart of Central City. The Generals brother had convinced a part of the larger family to take a trip out of the country, have renovations take place during this time, in the process getting access to keys and security. The Briggs troops were billeted there, down in the cellar, unbeknownst to the workers coming by day and the personnel shuffling about.

The initial plan to use the Armstrong Manor had to be abandoned, the Fuhrer having taken up residency there.

Buccaneer had questioned if the location was safe, if the General maybe had memories of this place? Which he’d gotten answered rather quickly, by being told that it was this very house were the famed I-destroyed-all-my-aunts-vases-out-of-pettiness-incident had taken place. She’d not been welcome after the age of five there, something she’d always been weirdly proud of when she told them this story.

And up until now, their plans were working rather well.

They’d gotten Central Command under their control in large parts, had fortified the front gate and her brother had, after a near defeat, gotten the upper hand on the homunculus Sloth. The Curtis Family he’d sent over, a woman seeming pretty sympathetic to him, reminding him of his own wife. She’d apparently played a big part in the beast’s demise.

Miles was in Eastern, had seen her with his own eyes, the last few months hell for him. Buccaneer had only felt these things, lingering looks and touches a second to long, but had known both of them long enough to understand. They were waiting for peace, had put love to the side for so many years, just to now be met with the fact that there was a very real possibility of dying before ever having uttered a word about it, confessed to the other verbally.

It was cruel fate he thought to himself, the news of an “attack” on the train the Fuhrer was in hitting this morning. As of now, most thought her to be dead.

The screaming beyond the gate they were holding, suggested otherwise.

He ordered the tank to get into position, saw the vehicle descend the tunnel, peeking over the parapet. It was her alright, the blue coat of the Fuhrer shed, clad in blue standard pants and a white blouse. Blonde hair falling freely, wildly, swords drawn. A sinking feeling in his stomach when she too, stepped into the tunnel.

Heard the screams, the sound of screeching metal and simply knew that the battle to come would be almost impossible to win. While the General had plenty of weaknesses, admitting this fact freely herself, fighting people in combat with her sabre wasn’t one of them. With the blade she was a deadly creature, encompassing the brains capacity to understand just what exactly she was doing. Quick, fast, strong, deadly. The mere thought of the power of a philosopher’s stone mingled with her trained body, her expertise and the added skill of the being known as Wrath was terrifying.

Yet when she burst from the gate, they were ready.

He blocked and parried her powerful blow, watched her skitter over the concrete with the sheer force he’d used.

Soldiers took pot-shots at her, pride blooming inside of him for a second, because of the lack of hesitation on their part. But she quickly dodged, retaliating faster than he could blink.

White uniforms were stained with red, no hesitation when she slashed what have been her own men once and with a quick shout he told all others that wanted to step into this battle, to better drop that thought.

Exchanged blows with her, tried to remember everything he knew about her, every weak-point she’d sustained during their long time as friends. She doing the same when her sword lodged into the right crease of his automail arm, severing it from the port.

The pain was blinding.

He was joined by the xingese man and another homunculus.

Went along with it, aware that he could never take her on her own, never had been able to before either. None of them landing a blow, only receiving numerous wounds.

And when one of the swords sheathed itself into his abdomen, he was amazed at how little it hurt.

Could feel the blood pouring of course, staggered a little, but saw her being distracted before she could land a killing blow. Hair flaring, giving him a view of the ouroboros, the ultimate eye. Olivier had always relied on her senses, all of them at once. Knew at any time where she was in the room, even when blindfolded. They’d trained that once and she’d still blocked every blow. But this thing wasn’t her.

Pulling the sword from his body, he advanced.

They all knew how to wield such a weapon, though only few of them had mastered it. He hadn’t, but in the meanwhile he’d learned to watch his foe.

Advanced, unseen, the trick one that ended a live in the long run.

But his own life-force was seeping into his clothes as well and when he saw the white blouse dampen red, he allowed himself to smile.

Looked into the things eyes, hoping to see her lurking, showing her that they were fighting to free her.

One way or the other.

* * *

 

She’d handed him a little wooden sword and they’d played pirates.

Or knights. Sometimes even xingese samurai. They’d stand on a mat in the Armstrong’s pool and pretend it to be their ship, fighting off pool-noodle sea monsters, namely her siblings. He learned the rudimentary handling of the wooden weapon, but little more. Lacked not only the talent, but also the patience. Yet, he’d always greatly enjoyed their playtime, remembering it fondly.

Watched when they grew older and she trained, old enough to do so with the real sabre. Wielded it with skill and grace, him being younger than her, getting a feeling for what it had to be like to have siblings. They’d grown apart when the Madam had moved to East City, taking him with her, though he knew in his heart that nothing had ever truly changed from back then. They just hid it better.

These memories replaying when Wraths blades sunk into his hands, movements faster than he could follow. It had escaped his fire, showing of her body’s capabilities.

Pinned him to the floor, hands shaking slightly on the pommels of the weapons, as if it was thinking about turning them in his flesh.

“Good work Armstrong! Now to think what you’d be capable of, if I….”

The gold-toothed doctor cut short in his speech, impaled by Pride. Wrapped and risen above them, her face in front of his.

She looked like a stranger.

“That’ll make five.”

“The last human sacrifice.”

Wraths voice a snarl, a smile playing along its lips, hatred not changed or warped, only having changed vessels.

The black tendrils of the small homunculus encircling his hands and arms, telling him what they were about to do. Wrath unsheathing the blades from his hands, stepping back from the circle. Coughing.

“I wonder what kind of toll you’ll have to pay?”

It was her voice, panic rising inside of him.

The transmutation started.

* * *

 While Wrath had been a nameless being, she wasn’t.

He had taken her own blade during the fight, during a second of hesitation. Understanding rather suddenly that she who was believed dead, fought.

Without second thought sunk the blade into her flesh, his hand gripping her arm, making use of his alchemy. The blood spilled and Wrath the homunculus fell.

Watched as the thing spat its last words, startlingly human, watched the breathing slow.

Red dripping from the strange eye in a steady stream, accumulating on the floor. Watched the girl watch it, as it took shape, hardened, just to turn to dust when she tried to pick it up.

Saw her pick up the bottle from the woman’s pant-pocket, explaining to her what it was. Watched the still form of the blonde for a few moments, her right hand gone where he’d deconstructed it, blood spreading on shoulder and stomach and eye. The blade, her own, an ornate piece of craftsmanship, sticking out of her torso. Watched her shallowly breathe for a moment, wondering if she maybe had a last message she wanted to send.

If the time spent on Wraths last words maybe should have been spent on hers.

Realised that she’d fought with him, as well as she could, gave him an opening to win. And honouring her silent wish, he asked the young girl to help him.

Did his duty, activated the circle. Cumulated his brothers research with this act, feeling like he’d finally done him justice.

And when he felt ready to keel over from injury, from exhaustion, she stirred.

It was a shiver running through her, breathing picking up the pace.

And then the inhuman cry of pain from someone coming into contact with their own body, just to discover it being torn apart.

* * *

 No one had thought that she’d keep on breathing.

That’s what he’d been told upon arrival with the rest of the northern and a large portion of the eastern troops, walking only a step behind Grumman.

The official story was that a coup by some of the top brass of the military, involving human sacrifices among other things, was staged. Forces from eastern and Briggs had teamed up to topple it, to keep the current Fuhrer in power and to honour the legacy of Bradley. There was a huge number of causalities to the day, a big part of Central Command and the space surrounding it was in ruins.

Fresh troops he quickly organized into units, scouring the city for trapped survivors and clearing the rubble.

They’d carried her out of Centrals underbelly apparently, hurriedly, telling everybody that stopped to watch, expected to salute the passing body of the deceased Fuhrer, that for her the fight hadn’t ended. She was breathing still, bleeding staunched in parts, blood still flowing in others. Rushed her to a hospital and operated.

Mustang had been wise to spread the word that she’d been involved with everything, had called onto the Officers she most trusted for aide. It saved the Briggs-troops from retaliation by those of Central, the toll the greatest amongst the latter. Word also spread that her newest aide Hawkeye had not been involved with the coup, in contrast to the man also tasked with the same things, that he'd been a part of the coup already, before Bradley was assassinated.

And when he set foot into the hospital, still alongside Grumman, the man too hungry for news concerning her wellbeing, though for vastly different reasons, anticipation coiled inside of his belly like a hissing snake.

Alexander Armstrong had described to him the state they’d found her in when reaching the centre of the circle. One of the xingese Girls, he’d have to ask the Elrics for her name, pressing down on the wounds most bleeding. Her own soldiers taking it from there, doing what they could while the battle raged on above. The state she was in had been withheld from her troops until after they'd won.

Had felt prepared before stepping into the hospital room where she lay, following Grumman still.

He wasn’t.

They’d propped her up on some pillows, so she was sitting upright, but it was clear to see that she’d never have gotten into this position on her own. Looked like there was little blood left in her body, pale beyond believe, a little tube beneath her nose, supplying her with additional oxygen. Her right underarm was gone, stump wrapped in sheer bandages, laying on top of the blanket thrown over her legs. Other bandages were peeking out here and there too, a drip connected to her arm. Bruising showing in several places, deep and purple. An after-effect of the loss of the stone her brother would explain to him later. Without its energy the trauma her body endured in the last few days showed more prominently, her body trying to fill the space left by the stone again.

A bandage wrapped around her right eye, no one knowing yet how it would look. The other eye still so very blue, following them. No emotion showing, not even a glimpse of it. Nowhere on her face.

Grumman talked politics with her, got her up to speed and proposed solutions. She looked almost normal during that, as straight to the point and no-nonsense as usual. She’d release a statement, step down from the post due to injury. He’d take it up for now, so the country and military could be reformed. Informed him that she would like to travel North as soon as the political climate allowed.

He noticed that her hand was shaking ever so slightly.

Heard how the other man thanked her for her cooperation on the matter, foregoing that he’d mainly followed her suggestions concerning how to proceed. Saluted, wished her well and left the room. Closed the door behind him softly.

The shaking of her hand increased.

Stepped up to her, softly took her wrist into his hand and held it tight. Felt her taunt muscles against him, the tightness in them, no relaxation in sight. The only thing that happened was her falling a bit more, back against the pillows, eye closing momentarily.

No words left his mouth and hers neither, so he just stood there for a while, felling her skin underneath his. Took in the way her hand shook, the blood pumping underneath his fingertips. Listened to her ragged breaths, watched her flinch when a noise from beyond the door startled her.

Wondered if the things Wrath had taunted to Mustang were maybe partially true, that while he’d not erased her completely, bitten chunks of her away. He’d not seen the man yet, had heard that he’d lost and regained his eyesight in rather quick succession.

And all the while his heart hurt.

He could not even attempt to phantom what the last few months must have been like for her. Trapped inside of her own body, being a spectator at your own life. The things Wrath had done, were done with her hands, with her strength. Blood spilled by him fell onto her skin, the face people saw when it committed another gruesome act, hers.

Her reputation might stay intact in the public’s eye after this ordeal, but she’d in no way gotten away unscathed.

Held her wrist a little closer, let his fingers intertwine with hers, felt her press down ever so slightly, before trying to pull her hand away from his.

Still looking away from him.

Still expressionless.

Felt the tide of his own feelings rise, bravery and stupidity reaching their limit at the same time. She was alive, there was a chance and he’d fight, even if it would be the last thing he ever did.

“Olivier, please don’t forget that I love you, okay?”

They’d never said things like that before, known them, yet never went beyond that. Wanted to remind her of it when his touch seemingly couldn’t, so she could at least be sure of that.

Her gaze was not empty anymore, but changed to unreadable. She was looking at him, blinking once, twice, before words coolly tumbled of her lips.

“I don’t deserve to be loved.”

And the worst thing was that she truly seemed to believe that.

* * *

 When they considered her out of the woods, she demanded to be transferred to the mansion.

Waited with her in the entrance hall, a maid having seemingly conjured up a chair for her out of thin air, while they readied her room. He’d informed himself beforehand where she had rested the last few months of her stay, the staff having been aware that something was off. Had them prepare the rooms of her childhood when he heard that the Fuhrer had slept in another room, fresh sheets to be put on the bedding.

Carried her up the stairs when she proved to be too weak to do it on her own, not commenting on it when her knees stayed weak when he tried to set her down again, carrying her the rest of the way too.

Façade crumbling when all personnel left the room, when Miles, seemingly always by her side, stepped out to get himself settled.

To the outside she presented the same picture the public thought of as true for years: stern, strict and unapproachable. Her face was a mask, almost expressionless and after she made a written statement about what had happened on the promised day and that she’d step down from the post due to injury, that she needed some peace and quiet to heal, people complied. No reporters were following them, no one tried to sneak onto the premises.

With doors closed, she was a nervous wreck.

Her injuries were hefty, the shock of the pain she’d felt when slipping back into her own consciousness still running through her body. Movement hurt, her stumped arm was constantly in front of her eye. They changed the bandages wrapped around her head twice daily, but the swelling still hindered any diagnosis, her ability to see restricted. Not to mention the trauma she’d endured those last few months.

He knew her all his life and could tell that the guilt was eating her up.

Distanced herself from most people he noticed, tried to keep him away too. The only other person who let himself not be deterred the Major, worried for her wellbeing just as much as he was. At the hospital they’d taken turns staying by her side, sitting through the visits she got.

Mustang, barely getting a word out.

She’d almost shut down completely while he was there, let nothing show, controlled every muscle. The man inquired about her well-being, told her about his plans for the Ishvalan restoration. Told her that it wasn’t her fault, that he did not blame her for anything. That he’d seen the fight she put up, that she made a difference that day.

Her direct response was silence, and when he’d left she’d turned away from him too, staring at the wall of the hospital blankly.

Henschel, one of her men from Briggs, bringing news.

Telling her that Buccaneer had finally woken up, after first roaring back to live when the souls in the philosopher’s stone had been released. The medical personnel had patched him up and brought him to a hospital quickly. The doctors saying that the sword ripping through his body had missed anything vital by a mere inch. Told her to make of that what she wanted, no doubt aware of the way his superior officer could be.

Stared a bit more after that visit Miles had said, his words bouncing off of her.

He himself trying not to think about the man that lay just several rooms further from here, the Ishvalan that had once tried to kill him. Her soldiers had been treating her and him when he first recognised the pained screams as that of his sister. Insured that he was to be saved and brought here too, not willing to decide the man’s fate.

He was awake for a while now, had inquired about the going-ons.

Appeared humbled, the man who’d killed Wrath. Calm and collected. Had talked lengthily with Miles on several occasions, not roaming the mansion freely but being given the freedom of half a hallway and this stories winter garden, a room almost completely made of glass, ceiling and walls, enabling you to see the stars in the night and the sunrise in the morning.

His sister refused to talk about him too, about anything concerning her experiences during her imprisonment and so he at least informed her of his being here.

Changed shifts with Miles again when the man came back, having promised to transfer the Briggs troops to the west wing, tank and all.

Took his sisters hand in his own before he left, holding it tightly for a moment.

She looked away.

* * *

 “Won’t they be scared if they find you gone?”

The winter garden was quite a beautiful place, lending itself to thinking and peace. The house was rather full, though because of its sheer size still feeling almost empty, but to get a moment to clear your head was still rare.

According to everybody in this place, her not answering was the norm.

Sat on one of the cushy chairs, feet drawn up and a blanket wrapped around her. Head resting on the back of the thing, hair hanging down, eye trained on the stars. She didn’t even flinch when he entered. Sat himself down too, knowing that she’d at least not disturb the peace of this place, should she choose to ignore all of his questions.

“If Miles finds you out of bed, he’ll think that you’re trying to do yourself in.”

Not even this getting a reaction out of her, as it was probably close to the truth. His red-eyed brother did not confide in him, but his thoughts and feelings were still clear to see, especially now, as he perceived the world so differently.

Wondered for a second if he’d been like that before the war, calm and honest and with a clear outlook, not able to remember.

“I don’t think he’d survive it if you did.”

This had her head lolling to the side slowly, her one free eye meeting his. Noticed how different her face was compared to when she hadn’t been free. Her muscles did not pull it into a grimace, there was no air of arrogance around her. Just hurt and pain and worry, all put behind a cool mask, melting right off her face at his words.

“If I die he’ll move on, that’s the law of Briggs. Survival of the fittest, the weak getting left behind.”

Could see that she tried so desperately to believe in this and yet remained so blind to the possibilities of this statement. Were there not animals only fit to survive in a group? Everybody was weak in something, everybody was good at something. From this angle there was no weakness, only the lack of corporation.

“It did not look like you could impress this upon them especially well then. There was more than a handful of yours, trying to pull you back from the brink. And he’s no different, ready to live or die with you.”

Was honest, had never seen so many people rush to someone’s side before. It had taken some effort to even grab one’s attention away from her, lying on the floor, life bleeding out of her. And Miles was the same he’d soon noticed. Practical and pragmatic, but focused on her. Told him of Colonel Mustangs project to restore Ishval, having asked the man if he would transfer under his command. Also telling him that he’d refused for now, wanted to stay at her side.

The forever he did not need to utter.

“The world would be a worse place without him.”

Would second that, though hoped that she understood what he wanted to say. Silence stretching between them for a long while, both looking at the stars. He could hear her breathe from where he sat, unevenly still. Felt a pang when he thought about her arm, the wounds he’d thrust upon her. Suddenly had to think of Mei, always trying her best, to make the world a better place. So young and so smart already.

Broke the silence with a low voice, threading dangerous territory.

“Do you blame me, for the wounds that I left your body with? The others that fought against you before?”

Few that had felt his wrath lived to tell the tale. Yet felt that he could at least learn something from this, maybe help her along the way too. Wanted to know, feeling that she’d be honest or silent, but not lie.

The answer was rather simple.

“No. You did not attack me, but the homunculus.”

The words freeing a part of him, though leaving him with the knowledge that he’d never not feel at least in part guilty.

This rather sudden revelation setting the words barely thought through free.

“Then why do you blame yourself for the things it has done?”

Did not know if she looked angrily at him, the room too dark, instead focusing on the sound of a door opening. Heard steps in the hallway, heard the quiet call.

“Olivier?”

Saw her only hesitate for a second, before she drew breath to call out to him. Just to choke and cough violently before she could.

Called out to Miles in her stead, though the man already knew the way. Stood in the doorway quickly, relief showing on his face. Walking over to her, patting her back and handing her a handkerchief. Turning to him meanwhile, gaze questioning.

He pointed his finger up, indicating that they’d looked at the stars. Clapped Miles on the shoulder while walking past him, feeling ready to go to sleep. Closed the door behind him, giving them privacy.

The thought to return to Ishval, watching the stars every night again, felt heavenly.

* * *

 He was so silent, sitting next to her.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

Seemed startled when she said this and realising that her silence had done something with him she’d not intended. That he’d been ready to sit through the quiet with her, giving her as much time as she needed. Her heart felt warm, beating faster at that. The beast of guilt meanwhile rearing its head insider of her, chiding her for that.

“What are you talking about?”

His question so sincere, she wondered if he really didn’t worry about it. If it really hadn’t hurt or if he was just hiding it from her.

“In the hospital, when you told me you loved me. I didn’t answer.”

The silence stretching on for so long, she could not hold his gaze. Looked away, but did not see the night sky turning purple in the distance.

She’d waited too long, had let the moment to tell him the truth, to not just touch and look at him in a meaningful way, pass. Felt her soul distance itself from her body again, the feeling of foreignness hitting her full force. It had been the thing shutting her up, forcing her to show the world her mask. Could not shake the feeling that came with having been an unwanted guest in her own body.

Hand shaking again, trying to take control and failing, had the bile rise in her throat. Could not hurt anybody with her body anymore, knew that she could barely walk. Kept her mouth closed all of those days, fearing to do some more damage with her words.

Warmth spreading through her hand suddenly, shaking stopped by a firm grip.

Turned, slowly, Miles crouching in front of her, her hand in his. Felt the course texture of his skin, the sharp edges of his fingernails. Wiggled her fingers against the warmth, every single one obeying her command.

“If I were to say it again Olivier, that I love you, what would you answer?”

Took in what swirled through his eyes when they trained on her, unwavering, unblinking. The hope filling them to the brim, the honesty of his words. Saw him not blaming her for anything, neither for existing, nor for being too weak. Blamed her not even for surviving, cherishing her for it rather. Saw a glint of admiration that felt wrong.

Realised with a start how long she was quiet now, deciding to trust his judgement. Miles did little wrong.

“I’d tell you that I love you too, that I’d never be able to forget that.”

The silence following this was pleasant, just him smiling goofily at her, a blush taking over his cheeks. His hands grabbing hers tighter, eyes warm and inviting.

Felt more at home in her own body again, felt her soul connect to it in parts at least. Her hand was hers again for now and when he softly touched a hand to her cheek, still grinning like a fool, she felt her soul return to these patches of skin too.

“Would it be alright to kiss you now?”

Maybe he did not notice that he was whispering, sounding a little bit hoarse. She felt herself nod, slowly, and when his lips pressed against hers in a short but sweet kiss, she left her eye closed for a moment.

Overwhelmed with the warmth spreading through her, with the skip of her heart that had her body left in turmoil. With how careful he was not to come in contact with her injuries, his desire to keep her from harm.

“Mustang asked me if I wanted to help him with the restoration of Ishval.”

Stayed calm, looked at him, waited for him to continue.

“I told him no for now, that I need to care take of you first. Will go wherever you will go. He seemed to understand that.”

Gripped his hands back, as tightly as she could.

“You should not keep your own dreams from yourself just because of me!”

Spoke quietly, with urgency in her voice. Saw in his eyes that he understood and at the same time a resolve manifesting in them.

“I’ve wanted to wait for you to get ready to travel again, steal you away with me when no one is looking.”

The prospect inviting, beautiful even. She could do with some warmth and the sun. With him by her side.

“You are aware that I’m quite a liability, right?”

His eyes lighting up at her permission to do as he wished when the time was right, at her amiability to be stolen by him.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to keep you safe!”

Had the audacity to smirk when he said this, moving to push up his glasses, realizing that he’d left them in her room. Shot back quickly, a sliver of humour coursing through her.

“So, you won’t be the damsel in distress for once?!”

Laughed a little while she shifted in her seat, the room having grown cold, a shiver running though her. His hands were warm, but not enough. Her body starting to ache too, injuries smarting in the huddled position. He noticed, true to his promise.

“I should get you back to bed.”

Let herself be helped up by him, walking back to her room slowly together. Helped her sit down on the edge of the bed, lifting in her legs when her muscles refused their cooperation. Throwing her blanket over her and turning to sit back down on the chair he’d been so adorably drooling on what seemed like ages ago.

Grabbed his wrist with her hand, keeping him by her side. Sitting down next to her, relaxing back against the headboard and watching her, slowly falling asleep.

* * *

 Before they’d even stepped into his rooms, his wife already stopped her in the hallway.

“An inch the doctor said, a mere inch away from anything vital. Thank you!”

Engulfed her in a tight hug, something neither of the two women was known for. Left through the hallway they’d just come through, all of Buccaneers kids in tow, Mira turning around to wave at her namesake. Many a Briggs man had a daughter with this name.

For a few moments Olivier stood stock still in the hallway, her expression guarded. Did not seem to know what to make of this, had confided in him that morning that she feared many people’s reactions. Had expected to be screamed at, to be attacked even.

Not to be thanked.

Seeing that she was dissociating, he softly touched his hand to hers. It pulled her out of her reverie, her eye locking with his. Insecurity showing only to him.

He held her hand tighter and pulled her towards the door, turning one last time before entering.

“Every fight makes a difference, won or not. I think you said this to me once.”

Smiled through her mixed feelings, giving her no time to overthink, pushing the door open.

Buccaneer welcomed them with a shout.

* * *

 They’d not known which position to give her, now that she’d stepped down from being the Fuhrer.

Everything had seemed like a step backwards, no one seemed to know what to do with her now. Neither with the political power she wielded, the stock the public suddenly put into her opinion immense. Took the decision from their hands, by having Karley relay a telegram.

They’d after all discussed for nearly half a year, long after she’d returned back to Briggs, filling parts of her former position as far as her physical state allowed. Took him and Miles with her, he no place to stay yet, the latter unwilling to leave her side. Taught the ropes to Henschel and Buccaneer, helped set up the first peace-talks with Drachma. Quite visibly got ready to leave the Wall again, helped them with setting everything up for Ishval, too. Snickered in the background, when Miles haggled with Mustang over the radio. He’d come, work with him, but only if he was allowed to bring some people of his own choosing.

She, sitting in the train with them only two days later, not giving anybody from Central the chance to travel up and tell her otherwise. Transitioned from train to truck with them and from there to horseback. They’d ride half a day ahead of the trucks, trying to find a well and a good spot to begin their efforts.

The only animal left a white and rather ill-tempered stallion, when they’d chosen animals befitting their barely existing experience. She’d looked at it sternly, countering the worried gaze Miles had put on.

Grabbed the reins with her one hand before climbing onto the horse, automail not yet implemented, declaration delivered with an air of natural authority.

“If you misbehave, I’ll turn you into sausage!”

It believed her, behaved and soon discovered that she was a good and generous rider, slipping him treats often.

Was the only one that could properly ride a horse Scar soon learned, behind aching already, watched her move through the dunes with the hood pulled over her head, trying to safe herself from the scorching sun. Knew what to do when they discovered just the right spot, handled the horses and then sat down with them in the shadow of one of the oasis trees, listening to them plan and ramble while waiting for the trucks to catch up to them.

Pulled her hood down and her hair back, her right eye still something he’d not gotten used to.

Pupil and iris had meddled and were brighter than the other eye, making her gaze look somewhat off. There was no scarring to the skin around it, but her eye was still extremely sensitive to light, her sight limited severely. People at Briggs had regularly left eyepatches at the handle of her door, the culprit never found. She refused them still. Rummaged through her backpack, pulling out a sketchpad and pencil, settling herself more comfortably and starting to draw the unmarred place.

Felt the exertion the day already had in store for them pull on his eyelids, settling himself deeper into the shadows and leaning against the wood at his back, ready for a nap. Through half-lidded eyes saw Miles do the same, settling close to her, despite the heat.

Saw them whisper with the other, saw her smile and heard him laugh quietly. Saw them exchange a quick kiss, allowing himself to smile a little at that. Everybody knew, yet they acted like it was a secret that they were one now.

Wondered if they’d make up excuses for sleeping in one tent, too.

Falling asleep, dreaming off what the future would bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, I really need to hurt Miles for once! It’s always her getting the short end of the stick.
> 
> Though I’d still feel something is missing from this fic, so I’m opening for things you’d like to see^^
> 
> And honestly, Wrath!Livier without a shred of her fighting against it would’ve ended in a disaster for the good guys. Watch key-scenes and imagine her in there. Yup, it’s that terrifying of a prospect.
> 
> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite you to leave:
> 
> _Short comments_   
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> 
> I reply to every comment, though it sometimes takes me a day, or two.
> 
> I thank you for reading this fic of mine through to the end. I appreciate all comments and kudos and should you want to get into direct contact with me [this is my tumblr](http://illidria.tumblr.com/)


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